


Looking Forward to It

by thundercaya



Series: The Workplace Warzone [20]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Depression, M/M, no actual suicide, suicide discussion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 10:53:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7615210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thundercaya/pseuds/thundercaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fight, then. It had to be. Hamilton didn't know if he could capitalize, but he intended to find out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Looking Forward to It

Madison wasn't at the Cabinet meeting. Hamilton wasn't complaining, but that was different. The man wasn't home sick, either; Hamilton had seen him that morning with an even bigger coffee than usual. While physically present, Jefferson wasn't completely there himself, and Hamilton had to wonder if it was because of Madison's absence, or if whatever caused Madison's absence was also throwing Jefferson off his game.

After the meeting, Hamilton caught Jefferson's attention. "Where's your congressman?" he asked.

Jefferson scowled. "Hell if I know."

That was different, too. Jefferson never had anything but good things to say about Madison. A fight, then. It had to be. Hamilton didn't know if he could capitalize, but he intended to find out. Later that afternoon he waited near Madison's office and caught him on his way out of the building.

"Mr. Madison!" he greeted. "Missed you at the Cabinet meeting today."

"I seriously doubt that," Madison said, moving past him. 

Hamilton followed. "Is everything okay?"

"The answer to that question has never been 'yes.'"

"Fair," Hamilton said. "Is anything wrong that usually isn't?"

Before Madison could respond--if he were planning to give Hamilton a response at all--the two were joined by Jefferson, who didn't look like he'd cooled down any since Hamilton last saw him.

There was no greeting. He opened with; "why are you talking to _Hamilton_?"

Madison turned a glare on Jefferson that could have stopped arguments in Cabinet meetings if he'd ever brought it out in that setting. "So now you get to tell me not to talk to people?"

"Of course not," Jefferson snapped, "but I _know_ you don't want to talk to him. No one wants to talk to him. You're doing it to piss me off."

"Well, I wasn't before, but I am now." Madison grabbed Hamilton's arm and yanked it as he started walking again. "Hamilton, let's go."

"Go where?" Hamilton asked, glancing over his shoulder at Jefferson who was glowering at them, but making no move to follow.

"I'll let you pick," Madison said as they made their way out to the parking lot. "If we go to my favorite Denny's, he'll find us."

In his car, Hamilton shot a quick text to Eliza letting her know he'd be home late tonight. To Madison he said; "I'm not really sure where to take you. Every place I'm coming up with is a bar."

Madison crossed his arms. "Fine."

Hamilton glanced over at him. "Fine?"

"Yeah. Let's go."

"What? Really?"

"Yeah. Fuck it. Let's go."

"What about your medication?"

"Why don't you let _me_ worry about my medication?"

Well, Hamilton supposed that a few drinks might loosen Madison up enough to give him some ammunition to use on Jefferson, if not on Madison himself.

"All right," Hamilton said, starting the car. "Just don't try to say later that I forced you."

  


When they took a seat at the bar, Madison pursed his lips and tapped on the bar top.

"What should I get?"

"Huh, I guess you wouldn't know," Hamilton said. He thought it over for a moment. "Oh, you like iced tea, right?"

Madison gave him a disapproving look. "Because I'm from the South?"

"Well... yes."

Madison let out a sound that was almost a laugh. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

"Well, this doesn't have any actual iced tea in it," Hamilton explained, pulling out his credit card, "but it tastes enough like it." He waved over the bartender. "Two Long Island iced teas."

Madison pulled out his credit card. "Separate tabs, please."

When the drinks were in front of them, Hamilton realized he shouldn't have ordered anything. Madison was maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet, hadn't eaten dinner, and for all Hamilton knew, this could literally be Madison's first time drinking. He should be completely there if something went wrong. Sure he wasn't above watching an enemy crash and burn, but it wasn't beyond his capacity as a human being to want to avert a fucking tragedy if Madison had a bad reaction. Hamilton fiddled with his glass as Madison drank cautiously from his own, making a face and shivering. Hamilton made a mental note that this place must not be good with Long Island iced tea if Madison could taste the alcohol.

"So what happened?" Hamilton asked.

Madison sighed. "We were having a discussion. Maybe a bit uncomfortable, for me, but civil. Then I brought up karaoke."

Hamilton furrowed his brow. "Like, as a concept?"

"No," Madison said, shaking his head. "Remember that time we all went to karaoke?"

"Oh, that. Of course I remember. How could I forget? I thought you were gonna drop dead on the spot. But what does that--"

"Hamilton, let me fucking speak."

Hamilton shut his mouth. Madison took a more daring drink before speaking again.

"Thomas wants me to do something I don't feel like I can do."

"What is it?"

Madison scoffed. "Wouldn't _you_ like to know. So I _tell_ him I can't do it, and he disagrees. So he's telling me I'd be great at it, and that's nice and all, but I tell him 'Thomas, after a lifetime of being me, I think I know better than you what I'm capable of. Remember karaoke?'" Madison sighed. "He didn't like that. He said 'how are you still _on_ that, I said I was _sorry_ , how long are you gonna hold it _against_ me,' and on and on and on. He wouldn't even let me explain that I'm not still mad at him. It happened and... it doesn't bother me any more than any other inconsequential thing that bothers me does. It's just a concrete example of him overestimating me." Madison took another drink. "On the other hand, so what if I _were_ still mad? Why does he get to decide how long I'm allowed to be mad? If someone fucks up, do they dictate when you get over it? It's not like I ever went up to _you_ and told you to get over it."

"I _am_ over it," Hamilton said.

Madison took another drink. "Congratulations. I don't fucking care."

And that was the difference, wasn't it? Why would Madison care if Hamilton was upset if he didn't care about Hamilton at all? Though Hamilton agreed that it was Madison's right to decide how long he should be upset, surely he could see why Jefferson wouldn't want him to stay mad. Well, if Madison couldn't see it, Hamilton wasn't going to help him along; he wasn't here to fix Madison's relationship. Instead he said; "so you think you fucked up when you ended our friendship?"

"Ending the friendship wasn't the mistake," Madison said. "We disagree. It was inevitable. The mistake was accepting your offer of friendship in the first place. Without that, we could have disagreed and it wouldn't have meant anything. I missed the opportunity to let it not mean anything. Because you were being nice to me and you seemed eager to be around me, and that's not typically my experience, so I said 'why not?'" He met Hamilton's eyes. "There's always a 'why not,' and if it's not immediately apparent, it will likely reveal itself when it's too late to do anything about it."

"So... I take it you're just now finding out the 'why not' of this thing you have with Jefferson?"

"No, that was apparent from the start," Madison dismissed, "but I chose to ignore it because I think it's the same for any relationship. You lose some of your freedom, you know?"

Hamilton did know, but he also didn't think Madison cared much for the things that usually constituted the freedom of being single. Going freely to places like this, for example. "Freedom to do what?"

"You know... simple things. Like just lying on the floor."

"Um...."

Madison gestured vaguely. "You know how once in a while you just want to lie there for an hour or two? When I was alone I could do that. My record is fourteen hours. But with Thomas, it's 'what are you doing down there? Why don't you come back to bed? How long have you been there? Can you at least move to the couch? No, I'm not leaving you there.' Like, come on, Thomas, let me live!"

Hamilton was actually familiar with that feeling, though he'd never indulged it, forcing himself to pick up a pen and write until it passed instead. If it took fourteen hours--or more--so be it. He could relate to the loss of that freedom, too; once he had a wife and children it became less acceptable to write for such long stretches of time. Of course, he wasn't going to offer any of this information to Madison, instead saying; "you've lain on the ground for fourteen hours?"

"It's how I rang in the new millennium," Madison said. "Best New Year's Eve ever."

Hamilton hoped that was sarcasm, but at this point he couldn't be sure.

As Madison finished his drink, he nodded towards Hamilton's untouched glass. "You're not drinking."

"Well...."

Before Hamilton had a chance to decide whether or not to tell the truth, Madison waved him off and slid the glass over to himself.

"This is still on _your_ tab," he said before taking a drink. "So what about you?"

"What _about_ me?"

"Aren't you supposed to bare your soul a bit too? Isn't that how this works?"

" _This_ is you pissing off your partner. I don't have to tell you anything to accomplish that."

Madison made a face.

"What?" Hamilton asked.

"You called him my partner. That's weird."

"What should I call him, then? Your boyfriend?"

Madison shook his head. "No, that's worse."

"Lover?"

"Hamilton."

"Boy toy?"

"Hamilton, I'm going to grab that gentleman's beer bottle, break it, and kill you with it."

"You threaten to kill me like three times a week," Hamilton dismissed. "You could maybe go through with it some time."

He thought his tone had been flippant enough, but even with the alcohol Madison must have caught something, because his eyebrows shot up before he smiled knowingly and took a drink.

"Oh, that's right," Madison said. "You're just waiting for death."

Hamilton frowned, maybe just a bit bitter that he'd noticed. "Let's get one thing straight. I don't wait for anything."

"I don't mean you're not doing anything in the meantime," Madison assured. "Just that you're... looking forward to it."

"I was a soldier," Hamilton reminded. "If I really wanted to be dead, I had plenty of chances."

"There are nicer ways than that to go," Madison said. He drained his drink, almost like an example. "I go to the doctor because agonizing illness isn't on my list of good ways to die. Maybe bleeding out from a bullet wound isn't on yours."

"You have a list?"

Madison shrugged. "I can't be the only one."

"I think for most people, that list contains one item, and that item is 'in my sleep.'"

"Okay, so maybe you don't have a list," Madison said. "But I'd bet you a drink you've already put together your ideal funeral. Who would speak. What they would say. Who carries the coffin and what your headstone says."

Hamilton didn't answer, instead signaling the bartender and pointing at the empty glasses in front of Madison. "Another, please."

"Mine would be really simple," Madison said, accepting his fresh drink from the bartender. "No one would speak. Hell, best case scenario, no one would show up. The guy who works at the cemetery would just throw me in the ground. Straight in the ground, whatever I was already wearing." He downed half his drink. "Or, uh.... You know how they do the thing now where they.... You know how they can turn you into a tree?"

"Sure."

"Turn me into a tree. Then cut it down so I can die again."

If he was honest with himself, this wasn't the kind of information Hamilton was hoping to get out of Madison. In fact, he was regretting this entire thing.

"I mean...." he forced out, not really sure what he was supposed to say here, "you can't want to die _that_ badly. You have an all right life."

"I'd rather die than do a lot of the things I do regularly," Madison said. "I guess that's hard to believe since I'm still here. It's just... hard to explain." He finished his drink, as if that would help with the explanation. "Something comes up that you don't want to deal with and you think 'I'd rather die than do this.' But those aren't your options. Do this or die. Your options are do it or don't and live with the consequences. Death is a third option you give yourself. Thing is, most of the time, dying would be more work than just doing what you need to do, and _not_ doing it is even easier. So you think 'that's a dumb thing to die over. I just won't do it.' But then as it gets closer, the consequences of not doing it feel heavier and heavier, and you panic and just end up doing it. So you think, 'was I ever really willing to die over this? Did I make it up? Was it fake?' But how can it be fake if it keeps coming back?"

Worse. That was worse. 

"Do you talk to Jefferson about this kind of thing?" Hamilton asked. Sure, Madison was pissed at the guy, but Hamilton couldn't think of anything else that might be an anchor for him.

Madison actually laughed. "His wife is dead, Hamilton. I can't tell him I want to die unless I'm absolutely sure he won't take me seriously."

This had officially gone far enough. They were not friends. It was not Hamilton's responsibility to sit here and listen to this shit--way too close to the things he tried to bury with his work--and try to think of acceptable responses. Leave that shit to Jefferson. He needed the other man here now. That might not be what Madison wanted, but hell, Hamilton also wasn't obligated to care what Madison wanted.

"Let me see your phone."

Madison looked suspicious. "What for?"

"I told my children you play Neko Atsume and they want to know how many cats you have."

"You still tell your children about me?" Madison asked.

"They still ask about you," Hamilton shrugged. "Can't figure out why for the life of me."

Madison sighed. "I think I have.... Yeah, no, I don't remember." He pulled out his phone, unlocked it, and handed it to Hamilton. Hamilton pulled up his text log with Jefferson.

 _It's Hamilton. Your boy is drunk. I can take him home if I absolutely have to, but I really think you should come get him._ He followed up with the bar's name and address.

"What the hell are you typing?" Madison asked. He made a quick grab for the phone and nearly fell off the stool when Hamilton moved out of his reach. Madison didn't try again, simply glaring at Hamilton until he gave the phone back. He squinted at his phone, reading the message, and then it vibrated in his hand when the response came in.

"Ah," Madison said. "I finally understand the sting of betrayal."

"Is he coming?" Hamilton asked.

"Yeah," Madison said. "You might as well leave."

"Unfortunately for you, I still need to close my tab. You should close yours too."

"How about you close it and go?"

"Your man is probably already angry at me for bringing you here," Hamilton said. "If I let you walk out into traffic, he'll end me. Hell, given our conversation tonight, you might not even do it on accident."

Madison stared at Hamilton for a bit, probably just now realizing the “why not” for sharing what he had. He finally looked away, slumping his shoulders and tapping absently on the bar. If Hamilton felt uncomfortable while Madison was talking, it was worse now. Hamilton got their credit cards back and set Madison's on the counter in front of him. He eventually put it away without looking at Hamilton. It felt like ages before Jefferson arrived. Hamilton spotted him first and waved him over.

Jefferson looked more worried than angry now. Maybe it really _was_ Madison's first time drinking. 

Madison saw him approaching, then pointedly looked away.

"James--" Jefferson began, putting a hand on Madison's shoulder.

Madison shrugged him off. "Don't 'James' me."

"All right," Jefferson said.  "You don't have to talk to me. But we need to go."

They weren't looking at Hamilton at all and he wondered if he could just back away from the situation and leave them to it. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the bartender watching them, hand hovering over the phone hung on the wall, perhaps to call the police if this turned into a fight. Hamilton supposed he should stick around a minute or two longer.

"Maybe I'd rather stay," Madison said.

Jefferson gave a frustrated sigh. "That's it," he said before moving in to scoop Madison up.

"Thomas, I swear to God if you pick me up in front of all these people, I'm breaking up with you."

Jefferson moved back. "Please, James?"

"Fine," Madison said climbing down from the stool. When he stumbled, he allowed Jefferson to steady him. They still didn't spare Hamilton a glance.

The last thing Hamilton heard Madison say as they walked away was; "if anything, this proves my point. Why would you want a human disaster for your running mate?"

Wait, what?

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, y'all. I forgot how to be funny.


End file.
